


Crowd Pleaser

by carlyraejepsen



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Country Bumpkin Link, F/M, Fanservice, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Misjudgment of Character, Sexual Frustration, THIS IS ALL FLUFF DONT BE MISLED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 03:47:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9366671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carlyraejepsen/pseuds/carlyraejepsen
Summary: Near the end of South Castle street, right down the dark stairway between the laundromat and the fortune teller’s, lies Telma’s Bar & Entertainment. Of course, “entertainment” was just embellishing the fact that it was a strip joint. Zelda had never gone in before, being a normal, non-perverted person. Tonight, however, was her first trip.





	

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to all my Friends who supported me/this fic. You Made This Happen. I Hope This Is What You Wanted

Near the end of South Castle street, right down the dark stairway between the laundromat and the fortune teller’s, lies Telma’s Bar & Entertainment. It’s distinguishable by this big sign of a white cat with a bow at the front. Of course, “entertainment” was just embellishing the fact that it was a strip joint. Zelda had never gone in before, being a normal, non-perverted person, but Lanayru is a regular college town full of irresponsible young adults, so the place is packed nearly every weekend with an entry line going out onto the sidewalk.

 Tonight, however, was her first trip. Midna had to practically drag her in, convinced that she needed to “take it easy for once” when it’s goddamn _finals week_ and she does _not_ have time to take it easy. It’s not as trashy as it looks on the outside, thank god, and it’s not all that expensive to get into, but it’s a strip joint nonetheless, and Zelda feels like an idiot just for being here.

 They’re sitting at a decently-set table in front of a long catwalk that comes off a stage. There’s been about four or five different girls so far, and sure, they’re all beautiful, but it kind of makes her sick to look at them all like this— especially when she recognizes someone from one of her classes. Midna’s _thoroughly_ enjoying herself, which is a funny juxtaposition— Zelda leaning back in her chair all pissed off while Midna hoots and cheers and throws cash at a gorgeous girl in gogo boots and a string bikini.

Midna notices after a bit, though, and she has to yell a bit over the loud music. “Hey, Zelda, why do you look so mad?”

“Take a wild guess,” she hisses.

“What?”

“Take a wild fuckin’ guess,” she shouts, and Midna laughs her haughty laugh.

“There’s a guy next,” she says, smirking. “You’re gonna lose your mind over him. Swear to God, he’s amazing.”

“You keep telling me about the guy, you’re like a broken goddamn record. I’m gonna lose my mind either way at this point—” The music stops, and there's a big round of applause for the girl onstage before the lights fade out and she exits.

“Shh— Zelda, shut the fuck up, I think this is him.” Midna points towards the stage as Telma emerges with the microphone once more.

“Well then, ladies and gents, it’s time for the final event.” There are a couple hoots from the crowd, and Telma points at them— “Looks like we got some regulars who know just what I’m talkin’ about! This guy isn’t much one for talking, but I think you’ll all find that silence is golden… Give it up for the blue-eyed beast himself— The one-and-only _Wolf!_ ” 

The audience applauds as Telma hustles off, a few more dog-howls from the regulars before the lights flash and the music starts abruptly with a sort of synth; Zelda recognizes the song, but the name of it slips her mind as soon as a silhouette appears onstage, green lights behind them. The spotlight goes up, and—

Oh, _fuck._

There’s a _shockingly_ handsome man up onstage, poised and ready to perform, staring defiantly out at the audience. His eyes are sharp and blue and lined with dark makeup, and his blonde hair is swept back out of his face— he’s wearing what looks like a formal outfit, a white dress shirt and black dress pants with black suspenders to match. Black dress shoes, too, but why on earth is she looking at his _shoes_ — and he looks down and fixes one of his cuffs before he looks back up and flashes this _blinding_ grin at the audience. Midna yells something profane, and Zelda’s ears are starting to burn, and the performance hasn't even _started_ yet.

_That girl is a real crowd pleaser, small world, all her friends know of me—_

Wolf snaps into it the second the lyrics start, taking center stage and stepping right in time with the music. His hips sway in a sort of way that she didn't know was _possible_ for men, and he dances and twirls and it isn’t even embarrassing or cringey to look at, it’s plain mesmerizing. He’s suddenly down the catwalk and Zelda’s ascertained that he’s absolutely stunning, it isn't just the lights playing tricks on her.

And then, it seems, the real show begins. Wolf’s hips roll languidly, slowly, running his palms down his torso, down to his thighs— they _look_ like they're gonna stop between his legs but then he just keeps moving, pushing his hair, ducking down to slide his feet with a certain move that almost looks surreal. He’s honestly an amazing dancer, she could watch him dance like this fully-clothed for hours but _god_ does she want him to take something off, just take it off, take _anything_ off—

_Getting so gone, I’m not blinkin’, what in the world was I thinkin’—_

And like her prayers have been answered, Wolf’s arms cross and he fucking _rips_ off the white sleeves, and they flutter to the ground like paper. Zelda screams when she sees his arms, and she has to cover her mouth because she feels like an _idiot_ getting all weak over this but hot _damn_ : Wolf holds his arms over his head and winks for a split second and the crowd swoons, he’s so goddamn strong, he looks so goddamn strong, his skin is so tan and it looks smooth as all hell. He grabs the pole and grinds against it, oh, _god_ all his movements look so fluid, everything looks so _graceful_ , even when he hitches his leg up on it and rolls again and again, something about it is just beautiful.

Then he glances out into the audience and she swears that he looks straight at her. She _swears_ that he stared at her, if only for a second. The dance continues through the song and he whirls right through it and Zelda absolutely can't tear her eyes away, she can't remember the last time she was ever even attracted to a man, let alone _this_ attracted, holy fucking _shit._

He suddenly switches his leg once the song’s hook plays yet again, and turns and rolls down onto the floor, leans up on his arms— he rolls his body in another inconceivably fluid move that makes Midna slam a fist on their table, knocking over her glass of water. Wolf gets up on his hands and knees and _crawls_ toward the edge of the stage like a— like a— well, like a _wolf,_ and Zelda can see the muscles flex in his arms and the sweat beading on his forehead and she thinks she might faint. The song ends, but it feels too soon; Zelda thinks she needs to see about twenty times more. Girls on either side of her are tossing bills at him, which he graciously accepts and folds into his pockets— then he clears his throats and jerks his head at someone behind the crowd.

“... Oh, uh, Wolf needs a partner for his next routine,” says Telma’s voice over the speakers. “Do we have any volunteers?”

There are shrieks from the audience as girls frantically put their hands up and wave them; Midna instantly grabs Zelda’s hand and raises it high into the air, and she’s so strong that Zelda probably couldn't take it down if she wanted to. She wants to be his dancing partner, wants to be close and against him more than anything in the world. A girl runs out from backstage and quickly places a wooden chair at center, and Wolf throws his legs over the edge of the stage and jumps down. He reaches for Zelda’s hand and smiles sweetly, and he’s handsomer than he was onstage.

Right then is when the spell breaks, the moment shatters and Zelda comes reeling back to reality. This was a mistake. This was an absolute mistake, and she suddenly regrets every choice she’s ever made— what, is this Adonis gonna give her a _lapdance_ or something? In front of an _audience?_

“Go,” Midna whispers, tugging her hand hard until she has to get out of her seat, and her legs are stone until she lets go and _Wolf_ takes her hand and they’re suddenly made of rubber, his hand is so warm. This might be the stupidest thing she’s ever gotten herself into.

“What’s yer name, sweetheart?” Wolf whispers close so no one can hear but her, and Zelda tries to make herself aware of everything again— he’s a bit shorter than her, he walks with this sort of bow-legged stance, he has an _accent_ , holy fuck, is he southern?

“... Zelda,” she replies, can barely even spit it out. “What are you—”

“Oh, that’s a _mighty_ nice name,” he smiles, “Jis’ sit back easy, alright, Zelda?”

She nods, climbing up onto the stage with him— people whoop and cheer and her hands start to shake, but looking at Wolf calms her nerves a bit for some odd reason. The catwalk seems a million miles long and the stage is a million times hotter than their table— must be the stage lights— but she makes it to the stage and sits down in the chair, holding the armrests like she’s about to be ripped off of it. That’s when the drum starts up and the bass booms and the lights flash a deep violet, and she can see his frame lit up from the back again as Wolf faces the audience. He gestures back to Zelda and motions for applause, which the audience _gladly_ supplies— a woman yells “ _Fuck me!”_ from the side near the bar, and he stumbles back a little with his palms out in deference. The lyrics start, and Wolf turns to face her.

_Driver, roll up the partition, please…_

She sees him take a deep breath like he’s nervous— then he grins and picks up his suspenders with his thumbs, running them down and back up. He starts the dance, and he’s suddenly just this gorgeous purple blur in front of her, and Zelda’s heart hammers so fast that she almost feels nauseous. He swoops down to his left with a rhythmic motion, down on one arm for a moment before he pushes back up, steps closer to her and repeats it on his right arm, falling right in front of her after.

 _Driver, roll up the partition, please, I don't_ _want y'all seein’ Yoncé on her knees—_

Wolf gets on _his_ knees and he quickly hooks his arms around her neck, pulling himself up _right_ between her legs with a fluid roll that makes the audience lose its mind. His eyes are intense and focused and blue as the sky— only now does she notice that he has cute freckles all over his cheeks and his nose, and Zelda can't stop herself from laughing, she’s so nervous and and giddy and turned on that she doesn't know what else to do. He’s so goddamn close to her right now that she can feel the heat off his body— she can smell his _cologne_ , holy shit, he smells like grass and pine and spices, Zelda even doesn't care where she is right now, fuck the crowd, fuck finals, she’s gonna have jerk-off material for _months—_

Then the bass _really_ hits, and Wolf straddles her lap and _god_ are his legs strong, his hand grips her shoulder and she wishes she had taken off her goddamn jacket so she could really feel his skin against hers. He sways back and forth right above her and she sees him bite his lip as he runs his palm down his shirt and briefly grabs the front of his slacks and the crowd screams and Zelda nearly has a heart attack— then he swings his leg off and gets behind her so she can't even see him. Zelda thinks this must be torture, this just might be her punishment for something awful she’d done in a past life.

“You’re doin’ great,” he whispers so fucking close to her ear, his breath is so hot, “lemme know if I take it too far, n’ I’ll quit it.” His hand grips the back of her seat and turns her chair and lowers the back to the ground effortlessly so that she’s staring up at the lights. Zelda’s stomach lurches again, but she’s just glad she wore leggings under her skirt.

Wolf immediately straddles her again once she’s on the floor, and if Zelda wasn’t red as hell already, she sure is now— his hands go to the collar of his shirt and he pulls at it and, and it looks like the buttons sewn on the outside are just for show because there are these clasps on the inside that just tear away in an instant oh jesus christ he’s so _fit_ , he looks so god damned perfect she wants to run her hands all over him— he falls forward with a hand on either side of her head and she can hardly breathe when he starts to roll his hips against her to the beat of the song, audience screeching and shouting and interjecting with obscenities. Zelda swallows, wonders if she’s ever had a drink of water in her entire life.

_Take all, of me, I just wanna be the girl you like… the kinda girl you like…_

His strong arms wrap around her and he picks her up, taking Zelda off-guard; her legs wrap around him almost out of instinct, and she’s just clinging to him for a second while he stands. She quickly feels like an idiot and kicks her legs down and stumbles back, but he doesn't let go of her. Wolf holds her close to him and walks her backwards to the rhythm, dipping her back at the edge of the catwalk. Then he spins her to face the crowd and she can see Midna all the way at the end, filming with her phone. She can’t even start to get mad, though, because Wolf grips her shoulder with one hand and holds her waist with the other as he grinds against her back and her knees are so weak that she doesn’t know how she’s still standing _—_

_The kinda girl you like is right here with me—_

Wolf abruptly twirls her back towards the chair and stays turned to the crowds, taking off his shirt entirely and tossing it mindlessly behind him. He still has the suspenders on, though— Zelda gets to stare at his back for a few seconds as spectators throw more cash at the stage, _god_ he’s so ripped, she doesn't even know how to feel right now, she’s got no frame of reference for what a strip show should be like, maybe it’s normal to feel like she does— she just stands and watches before he turns back and holds her close again, holding her hand up above her head and twirling her, spinning her like a top, stopping her abruptly and grabbing her by the hips.

The second song ends with Wolf kicking the chair upright and sitting so that Zelda ends up in _his_ lap, wide-eyed and breathless and beet-red. The crowd cheers and hollers and applauds so loud that it almost feels surreal _—_ Wolf smiles at her, out of breath, and mouths, “You alright?”

And then impulsively, rashly, _idiotically,_ Zelda grabs him by his suspenders and kisses him. The crowd goes louder, and Wolf makes a shocked sound and kisses _back,_ his arms falling right off of her like he’d gone limp _—_

“Aaaaaand _that_ concludes our show for tonight!” Telma’s voice is a little angry as she lists next weekend’s showtimes, shit, that must’ve been _totally_ against the rules, Zelda has to get out of here—

“H-hey,” Wolf pulls her close, “um, Zelda, can I buy you a drink?”

Zelda finds she can't speak, so she simply nods at him in disbelief, shakily standing up again.

“I’ll meet ya back at the bar in ten,” he says, and he gives her one last winning smile as he grabs the chair and runs offstage.

The crowd starts to disperse after a second round of applause, but Zelda’s ears are still ringing. She nearly breaks her legs trying to get off the stage, dashing back to her seat in the almost comforting darkness of the audience. Midna’s leaning on her elbows with an incredulous look, chin perched on her hand. “Well, fuck me sideways. Zelda, what in the fresh hell was _that_?”

“I don't know. I don’t—” Zelda laughs, and she puts her face in her hands, a bit dizzy. Her blush hasn't gone down. “I don't know what that was.”

“You certainly hit it off with Link, that’s for sure.” She takes a sip of her drink, an amber-colored martini in a wide glass. “I was almost worried you two wouldn't have chemistry.”

“... Link?”

Midna chokes on her drink and sets it down, snapping her fingers. “Damnit. _Wolf,_ I mean. Shit.”

“You— you _know_ him?”

“Doesn't matter. I’m heading out, this place gets depressing after midnight.” Midna knocks her drink back and pushes her seat out. “You want a ride, or are you gonna walk home in the dark by yourself?”

“I’m, uh. Meeting that guy for drinks in a second, so.” Zelda motions sheepishly to the stage, and Midna’s jaw drops.

“Zelda, I need you to remember this for me—” She presses her palms together and points her hands out at her with each word— “I. Am. Always. Right. Every single time.”

“What about—”

“Every single _fucking_ time, Zelda. I say you should let loose, and you have the time of your damn life. I say we should go to Telma’s, and you end up getting to _fuck_ the _hottest_ fuckin’ slice of meat in the whole damn province. Jesus!” Midna makes a lewd gesture with her hands to emphasize her point.

“Hold on, Midna, it’s not like that, he’s just gonna buy me a drink.”

“Oh, you’re damn _right_ it's not like that, did you see how big his hands were? It's probably more like _this_ ,” and replaces her index finger with _three_ fingers before repeating the gesture—

“ _Midna_!” Zelda laughs, grabbing her hands and trying to stop her, and they both just end up losing it. Midna grabs her phone and her keys, and she wishes her good luck before she leaves the table— then Zelda remembers how she was filming them. “Hey, hey— delete that video, okay?”

“What video?” And she’s out the door.

The atmosphere of the bar is a lot different after all the shows are over; the soft lights are back on and everyone’s chatting and laughing pleasantly, like they’re with old friends. It almost has a homely feel to it. Zelda sits at the bar and waits for several minutes after Midna leaves; she doesn't check her phone, as promised, even though Shad’s probably sending the lecture notes around now— no, no, she’s not gonna think about that. She’s just going to try to relax. She might need to order a drink or something to calm her down: thinking about Wolf meeting her is driving her slightly insane. He’s a _stripper_ , for christ’s sake, and with a face like that, he must be some kind of player or womanizer or something. Zelda starts to think about worst-case scenarios, chewing on the skin around her nail—

“Howdy!”

Zelda turns around and there he is in the flesh. His makeup’s off and he’s just in a green hoodie and some jeans, and his hair is messy and scruffy and blonde as ever. He’s _still_ gorgeous, damn him. “Hi,” she says, smiling stupidly as he takes a seat on the barstool next to hers. She’s somehow less anxious, feeling a bit dazed instead.

“I’m Link,” says Link, holding out his hand. He’s got these tacky fingerless gloves on. “We met at the… y’know, um, I just—”

“Yeah, I remember you,” she chuckles, giving him a firm handshake. “Link, you are one amazing dancer. I— well, people must tell you that all the time, but you’re honestly phenomenal."

“... Well, _shucks_ !” Link’s cheeks go red and he scratches his neck all nervous with this sweet smile, “T-to tell ya the truth, I _don’t_ get told that often.”

“Really?”

“Yeah— I mean, I get plenty a’ nice comments with this job, but nobody really says nothin’ about my dancing. It’s usually… Well, how should I put this…” Link hesitates for a moment, “It’s either people yellin’ about the way that I look, or it’s girls asking for me to do real _strange_ things to them.”

Zelda snorts at this, and Link quickly shakes his head in protest, “No, no, not even like in a dark-sided way or nothin’— they’ll just ask for things that’re genuinely unsettling. Like, a girl will go up to me after a show and say somethin’ like, ‘Hey, can ya step on my face?’ and I just have to be like, ‘... _No!’”_

She lets out a genuine laugh, knowing exactly what kind of impulse would cause a girl to say something like that to someone like Link. “What's the, what’s the strangest thing a girl’s ever asked you to do?”

“It’d have’ta be a tie between one wantin’ me to stab her through the gut with a sword and another wantin’ me to punch her front teeth out,” he answers almost instantly, “like, where’s the _appeal_ in that? How is that enjoyable for _either_ parties? Shouldn’t I take ya to dinner first, or…?”

Zelda laughs harder, and Link’s expression almost seems shocked at her. “A-am I coming on too strong like this?” He asks earnestly, chuckling all nervous.

“No, you’re fine, you’re good,” she gives him a pat on the shoulder, and he seems content with that. She feels comfortable around him already, which is quite odd for her.

“Oh, thank goodness— Zelda, can I get ya somethin’?”

“Yeah, um…” She hadn't thought about what she wanted to drink. Alcohol doesn't sound too appealing anymore, her nerves have already calmed quite a bit, and she figures she’ll have to make up for a lot of studying tomorrow. “I know this is stupid, but could I just get a cup of tea or coffee or something?”

“Sure thing.” He motions to the bartender, a bored-looking black-haired woman with bad bangs and pigtails. “Can I get a— oh, what kind of tea?”

“Um, green tea.”

“Got it— can I get a green tea and a glass of milk, please?” Zelda thinks it's a joke at first, but the bartender nods and pulls a small glass jug of milk out of a fridge underneath the bar, placing it in front of him as if the procedure is routine. Then she ducks back to an electric kettle by the sink.

Link turns to Zelda, gives her a fond look that she can't quite read. “So… _you’re_ Zelda.”

“Um… yeah,” she chuckles, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Oh, well, it’s jis’ that people talk about you, y’know? About the dean’s daughter. Princess Zelda. That’s you, ain’t it?”

She feels her face flush up again when he says it— she _knows_ he didn't mean any harm by it, but it irks her nonetheless. “Please don't call me that,” she says, trying to hide any traces of anger in her voice.

His expression drops as soon as she says it, and his hands clasp on the counter, “I am, _so_ sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn't know ya didn't like to be called— oh, _god_ , that really is insensitive, I’m sorry—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” She cuts him off, “you didn't know. Don't worry.”

“I-if it’s any consolation, the things people say ‘bout you are all swell,” he offers, “they all say you’re witty as all get-out, you got a brain like a computer or somethin’. N’ they said you helped get better funding for the arts department, too, uh, I really wanted to thank you for that.”

“... Well,” Zelda breathes, clearly flattered. She doesn't know quite what to say— sure, she vouched for a higher budget, but it’s not like she was responsible for it altogether. “Are you an art student? Or—”

“And Midna just goes on and _on_ about you,” Link grins, he must not have heard her ask, “tellin’ me about how kind and smart and you are, about all the stuff y’all do together."

She hesitates. “You know Midna?”

“Sure do. She was my first friend when I moved here, _god_ , I’d be a dead man without her— see, I grew up in Ordon. Comin’ all the way out here was real rough for me, just ‘cause… well, ‘cause this place ain't like Ordon at all, is it?”

Oh, _Ordon_ , that makes sense. She was stuck trying to pinpoint that accent. “... Really?” She tries to feign surprise, but it’s too obvious and the both of them crack up.

“The drawl kinda gives it away, yeah,” he says, and he’s so sweet and so earnest that Zelda’s honestly shocked. She had this guy pinned as a smooth-talking player just _minutes_ ago; he couldn't be more unlike his onstage persona.

“But, uh, Midna… Midna was tellin’ me about you earlier tonight, before the show, n’, I reckon she was— I think she had a mind to, to—” Link’s visibly flustered, pulling at his gloves, “Well, um, she was really, she was almost tryina _sell_ me on you, I guess, I mean—”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine, don't even worry, I’m jis’,” he laughs, closing his eyes, “I’m plain awful at... at talkin’ to pretty girls, that’s all. ‘Scuse me if I start stutterin’ with ya sometimes…”

Zelda feels herself blush again, just tries to laugh it off like it's nothing but jesus christ he’s just so _charming_ , he just seems so warm and sincere and real that she can hardly stand it. “I-it’s fine, I don't mind.”

“I reckon Midna was fixin’ to set me up with you, is what I wanted to say,” Link states, nodding with certainty.

“... I think she was trying to set _me_ up with _you,_ ” Zelda says as she puts it together, can't believe she didn't realize sooner.

“She sure is somethin’, ain’t she? Wildest gal I’ve ever met.” He takes a sip of his milk. “Helped me get this job in the first place.”

“Link, I have a couple questions.”

“Shoot,” he replies.

“Okay: first, what’s with the milk?”

“Haven’t given up hope that I’m gonna get taller. Next.”

Zelda busts out laughing at how quick he answered, let alone the answer itself. “A-and what about the stage name? Wolf, why’s that your name?”

“Because the guy’s a _beast_ , yeah?” says the straight-faced bartender, placing a hot cup of tea in front of Zelda. A girl to his right lets out a howl, and another wolf-whistles at him— Zelda recognizes them, they’re some of the women that performed tonight. The friendly way that Link tells them to quit it confirms her belief, and he turns back to her and leans in—

“I don't know why they call me that,” he whispers quickly, shaking his head, “worked here for nearly a year now n’ _nobody_ ’ll tell me why they call me that, I keep askin’ and I’m honestly kinda scared to find out at this point.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I’m fearin’ it’s somethin’ bad, though, so maybe ignorance is bliss.”

One of the girls has this bewildered look on her face, and she taps Link on the shoulder. “Hey, dude, are you drunk or something?”

“... N-no?” He chuckles, “I’m only drinkin’ milk, I don't—”

“You’re talking so _much_ , what the hell?” She nudges the other girl and asks, “Hena, have you ever seen him talk that much?” Hena shakes her head in response.

Link turns to Zelda with a quiet, “Pardon me for a moment,” then leans in towards the two women. There's a quick conversation of whispers, zig-zagging between the three of them, and then he leans back out, visibly nervous. Hena gives him a thumbs-up, and the two take their drinks and leave towards the stage.

“So sorry about that,” Link says, “I work with those girls, they're swell, but I-I dunno what that was about. I’m sober as a hymn, swear to the Lord.”

“It’s alright. Don't worry about it.”

“Now, what were we talkin’ about? We could talk about anythin’.” He smiles at her glowingly. “I jist really like talkin’ to you.”

Zelda’s heart aches at how innocent he sounds, and she takes a breath and tries to speak her mind: “Link, you don't seem like the type of guy to be working at a place like this.”

His brows furrow, confused. “What kinda guy didja expect?”

“I don’t know… A playboy or something. Or someone really conceited. Why do you work here?”

Link looks worried for a moment; he looks down at his hands and taps his nails on his drink skittishly, breathes a shaky laugh. “I study… I study dance, at school. That’s what I do. I’m a dance major. Been in a dance company since I was real little, all the way up ‘till senior year in high school.” He hesitates, but starts again before she can reply— “I, I’m good at it, too— got a scholarship for it, n’ that's the only reason I couldn't even afford to come out here. But it wasn’t a full ride, I still gotta make ends meet. I got offered the job last spring ‘cause Midna put in a word about me bein’ a good dancer and how I seem kinda handsome when I keep my mouth shut, a-and I took it. The pay’s good, I get to keep all my tips, the folks who work here are mighty kind to me, n’... well, I’m gettin’ paid for doin’ what I love.”

Zelda can’t even fucking believe this guy anymore. “What kind of dance company was it?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders, face reddening. “Um… mostly ballet… I mean, workin’ here’s just like any other dancing. You just gotta move your hips different.”

“That’s— Link, that’s _amazing!”_

And his eyes light up a little, “You really think so?”

“Of _course_ I think so, I don't think I’ve ever met a male dance major— are you thinking of making a professional career out of it?”

“I-I dunno yet, I just like studyin’ it. I’m glad you don't mind it, some people mind, I, I get nervous.”

“But you don't get nervous doing _that_ in front of dozens of people?” She gestures to the stage again, and Link snorts.

“Ordon is a pretty conservative place, you know that? I’ve had every slur in the book thrown at me, I can take a couple more hollers.”

His reply sparks this busy conversation that seems to last ages, just about random things that they have in common; they're both sophomores, they both love performing arts, they both think Midna’s a riot— honestly, Zelda’s a bit mad that she didn't tell her about him sooner. Zelda tells Link about how she dated Midna in high school, how things didn't work out between them, but they're still close. Link seems almost relieved to hear that she’s attracted to both men and women, that being _another_ trait that they share— the fact had apparently pushed many people away in his lifetime, and it was very reassuring to find that she completely understood. She tells him about her major, about her professors and about growing up near the university, and the bar gets less and less crowded as the hours pass.

Zelda practically studies him, noticing more and more about the way he looks. He’s got the cutest little blue hoop earrings on, his face is brilliantly red and it brings out his freckles even more, his lips are so— his _lips—_

“I’m sorry for kissing you,” Zelda blurts out once she remembers, “Onstage, I, um. I don't know what came over me. I don't usually do things like that, I’m really sorry if you got in trouble for it or anything.”

“Oh, that.” He shakes his head. “Telma gave me hell for it, but it’s all good. And I don't blame ya for it, me gettin’ all close like that.” Link smiles, and Zelda softly, slowly places her hand on top of his on the counter. His skin is soft and copper, just a shade or two lighter than hers. He clicks his tongue with a gentle, “ _Shucks,_ Zelda,” bashfully glancing the other way.

“Does that happen a lot?” She traces her finger over his gloved knuckles, and damn, he _does_ have big hands. “Do random strangers kiss you out of nowhere when you're just trying to perform?”

“Well, uh, no. That was my first time doin’ a routine like that, actually. I usually jis’ do one or two songs by myself. I wanted to try it out ‘cause some of the girls do it in theirs, but. I really don't wanna do it again.”

“Why?”

“I dunno… It felt too personal, I guess. Like I shouldn't be doing that with a stranger… n’ _certainly_ not in front of an audience.”

“It was really good for your first time,” she says, and they chuckle and Zelda’s nearly on the edge of her seat.

“You’re real wonderful, y’know that?” He hesitates, looks down at his milk, then continues in a softer voice, “I wanted to kiss ya so bad when I was so close like that, Zelda. Took everythin’ in me not to do it myself— I keep tryin’ not to say somethin’ about how you look, ‘cause I don’t wanna seem shallow, but _lands_ ,” He looks at her and says, “Zelda, you’re the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

He looks so _genuine_ when he says it that Zelda almost wants to cry, and she ends up just giggling nervously and shaking her head— he grabs her hand and squeezes it, “I-I’m not jis’ blowin’ smoke here, I mean it, really, you’ve got this _elegance_ to ya, your way of holdin’ yourself, the way ya sit up straight n’ how you walk n’ the way your _eyes_ look. Somethin’ about you, it, it jist _sings_ to me, I dunno—”

“Link, can I kiss you again?”

“Of _course_ you can, Zel _—”_

And she throws her arm around him and kisses him just like she wanted to, wants this so bad, all of it and more— she runs her hand through his hair, and he squeezes her other hand harder and shifts even closer, there's no way they can get closer on barstools like this, god damnit. Zelda wants this, she doesn't care if it’s too soon or if it’s all moving too fast, she’s gonna take another risk. No beating around the bush.

“Do you wanna—” He kisses her eagerly, and she has to pull back a little to speak, “How about we go back to my place? I, I want to sleep with you.”

And Link stops. He releases her hand and looks at her, wide-eyed. “Are… you sure?”

“Yeah,” she laughs, “yeah, I’m sure.”

“It’s only— I mean, people usually only wanna sleep with the guy onstage, they don't, they don't wanna sleep with— I said so _much_ to you, n’ ya _still_ wanna sleep with me _?”_

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Link nods, flashes her that dazzling grin again. “Zelda, I’d, I’d absolutely love to go to your place. My car’s out in the back parking lot.”

Zelda holds out her elbow for him. “Shall we?”

Link hooks his arm with hers, and they leave the bar like that, milk half-full, tea untouched.

Something about leaving into the cold with Link on her arm, the way that girls’ heads turn when they pass the entry line— it makes her feel victorious. Like she had won the night in its entirety. Like a queen.

 

The subsequent car ride seems to take decades. Link drives this big, beat-up truck that kept getting handed down in his family until it passed into him. The inside smells like that cologne he wears, like a forest, and their conversation on the way is fast and giddy and she almost doesn't want it to end. There are other things to do, though. 

Zelda takes off her shoes at the door once they're inside, and Link won’t stop looking at everything. He’s going on and on about how big it is, how odd it is that she lives without any roommates, how glad he is that they didn't go back to his messy dorm instead.

“You— oh, _whoa,_ ” he ducks his head into her kitchen, looks at the herbs and spices she’s got hanging in the windowsill, “what’re all those for?”

“Lots of things. Teas, spices, soaps, whatever.”

He whistles, steps onto the tile and looks around— he’s wearing these big brown leather cowboy boots and she hadn’t noticed, almost laughs out loud at the sight of them.

“Hey, you said you do _mostly_ ballet, right?”

“Yup.”

“What else do you do? Square-dancing?”

Link puts his hands on his hips, and he turns to her with his eyes wide and his mouth ajar, as if she had deeply offended him. “Well, ain’t _you_ slicker’n owl shit?”

Zelda laughs hard at the expression, and Link cracks a smile too. “If ya really wanna know, I do all sortsa stuff. My best ones are probably, uh… swing, tap, n’ ballroom.”

“You do _ballroom?”_ It gives her an idea that makes her heart race, and she acts on it quickly.

“Sure do.”

“I don't believe you,” she retorts.

“... You don’t?” He snickers, stepping a bit closer.

“Nope. Prove it. Do a waltz.”

“Well, I, I’d need a _partner_ for that.”

She grabs his hand, places the other firmly on his shoulder so that they’re close again. “You have one.”

Link’s face gets all red again, and he looks up at her in a way so tender that Zelda can hardly bear it. “I’ll lead,” he breathes, holding her waist, and they're off. He’s an excellent dancer, of course, and she finds herself liking this much more than the dance she’d received at the club; she can tell he’s a bit embarrassed of his height when she steps back in time with him, and it’s endearing in a way she can't quite describe. He mouths the counts as they glide across the linoleum, twirling until it’s all a sweet blur around them, _one, two, three, one, two, three_ —

They’re right at the edge of the tile when Zelda’s arms close around him and she pins him to her refrigerator, kissing him before he can even process it but he practically _melts_ into it, hands reeling to run up her back— he manages a weak, “Can I?” with his hand above her hair, he’s so _sweet_ , she nods her permission and he strokes her twisted locs gently— she gets her hand up the back of his hoodie and his skin is so _warm_ , she wants to take it off, she wants to see all of him, everything she saw onstage and more, oh, god, so much _more_ , she wants everything he has, he’s so kind, he’s so lovely to her—

“Can—” Link pulls back just a little, their foreheads are still touching and she can feel his hot breath, “Can I see ya again? Please? I-I jist reckon I should ask, um. I want to take ya to dinner, can I? Would, Thursday? Would that be alright?”

Zelda smiles, but she has to think for a moment. She has an ethics exam on Friday that she needs to study for, but other than that— hell, she’ll study another day. “Thursday would be perfect.”

She feels Link make a fist against her back as if in celebration, and he grins so wide— she’s so close that she notices that his canine teeth look sharper at the ends than normal ones, almost as if they've been filed to a point. She doesn't know what else to do but laugh, and his expression changes. “Everythin’ okay, Zel?”

“Yeah...” She’s decided that she won’t tell him, either. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Should we… Is it alright to presume that we should be goin’ to your bedroom now? I-I only ask ‘cause—”

Zelda cuts him off with another quick kiss, taking his hand and cautiously leading the two of them back, away from the fridge and into the narrow hallway. She honestly can't believe how bad she wants this, how hard her heart’s pounding just _thinking_ about sleeping with him, he's so sweet, he’s so gorgeous— god, looking like that, there’s a good chance that he’ll be _experienced,_ that he’ll know _just_ how to take a girl apart—

Her mind spins thinking about it, and she throws the door open too fast and the knob bangs against the neighboring wall once they're through. She feels around on her wall for the light switch, and the room illuminates. “Lands,” Link muses, eyes wide as he takes it in. It’s neat enough, she figures; there are a few piles of books and clothes on the floor and strewn across her chair and vanity, but the bed’s made neatly. Zelda lets go of him for a moment, takes off her jacket and lays it on her dresser.  

Link takes a seat on the side of the bed, still looking around. “What a nice room ya got.” He idly reaches back into the sleeve of his hoodie, pulls off one glove and then the other, putting them in his front pocket. His hair’s sort of sticking up in the back, and Zelda feels an urge to comb it down with her fingers. Maybe she just needs to touch him again.

“Link?”

“Yeah?”

She puts a hand on his shoulder, hears him choke on his breath as she leans in, slowly sinks into his lap. He falls back quick against the bed, and she hesitates before she kisses him slowly, soft as she can, almost to tease him or something. When she pulls back, he’s got this sedated, blissed-out look on his face that almost makes her laugh out loud.

“Link, I must confess,” she presses another kiss to his cheek, tastes like makeup remover and sweat, “I don’t… I don’t normally do this, I’m not this forward, I just. I really, _really_ like you.”

“No _kiddin’_ ,” Link exhales, “I feel the same, I haven’t, I, I really haven't ever—”

She kisses him deeply, and a wide hand meets her back, shaky, almost hesitant. Then he grabs her shoulder, pushes back suddenly, “Z-Zelda, have you ever done this?”

“Yeah,” she answers, and, almost as a joke, “Have you?”

And Link opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. He looks down and blinks hard, shakes his head quickly.

Zelda’s mind can’t process it for a moment— there’s no malice, no judgement whatsoever, it's just genuine confusion. “... What?”

“I didn't wanna tell you but I guess I need to, um, make somethin’ clear— I don't talk,” he says, voice weakening, “I don't, I don't talk about myself, I don't even do small talk, I don’t think I’ve had a conversation like ours in _months,_ maybe with Midna but even then _she’s_ the one doin’ all the talkin’— that’s why those girls I work with were so confused, I don't think I’ve talked to my coworkers about anythin’ besides my paycheck n’ my costumes but—” He swallows— “Somethin’ about ya feels so _safe_ , the way that ya looked at me when I was onstage, I got this stupid kinda feelin’ in my chest— n’ then you started to talk and I wanted to talk to ya _forever_ , I wanted _you_ to talk to _me_ forever— I jist, I never open up, so I never get.” He leans back, looking away. “I’ve never gotten this _close_ to anyone.”

“... I’m glad you told me,” Zelda says, because she truly is.

“I really understand if ya don't wanna go through with this, now,” Link reassures her solemnly, “won’t get any hurt feelin’s. Cross my heart. I just can go home.”

Zelda _does_ laugh at that, can't help herself. “Are you joking?”

“I—”

“Link, I want this so _badly_ ,” She delights in seeing his eyes shine again, leaning close, holding his cheek in her hand, “You’re… I think you're the most fantastic thing I’ve ever seen, and I want to see you again—”

“Zelda—”

“And again, and _again—”_

“Oh, _Zelda_ ,” Link sighs, pulls her into a kiss, his strong arms wrap tight around her shoulders and it’s like heaven, it’s the sweetest relief, she’s waited for this for what feels like forever. Her arms surround him , and she hears him kick his boots off onto the floor— she practically lifts him up, pushing them back and wrinkling the covers until she’s got his back against the pillows and the headboard. His clumsy kisses make her heart pound harder than any others she’s received, huffing for breath in between, sweet and sincere and everything she’s ever wanted. She gets her hands under his hoodie, under his t-shirt, manages to pry his arms off her and pull them both off at once, tosses it all off the side of the bed oh _god_ he’s gorgeous, runs her hands up his sides and her fingers over the ridges in his back, his skin is so warm, he’s so _warm_ , she needs more of it—

Zelda quickly pulls her sweater over her head, drops it behind her, and his breath catches and he embraces her again, so warm, she _needed_ this, she needed a break, needed to feel skin against hers like this, her face is burning and she doesn't _ever_ want to stop _kissing_ him holy _shit_ , she’s getting so hot, she wants everything off—

“Here— here,” she breaks a kiss, grabbing Link’s hands, placing them at her chest. “Do you wanna? It— this kind clasps in the front.”

Link nods eagerly, fidgeting with the clasp, and his hands are so shaky that he nearly breaks the goddamn bra it before it finally slides apart and Zelda shrugs it off her shoulders, discarding it without care.

He makes this _hiccup_ of a noise when he looks at her, quickly covering his face with his hand, blushing and grinning like crazy. “I-I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re so god damn _beautiful_ , Zelda, you really are, I’m kinda convinced I’m dreaming right now,” his eyes are practically gleaming with honesty, “Ya know that, don'tcha? You _must_ know that, Zelda— lord, you’re prettier than a September peach—”

He kisses her, and she hums, practically melting into his grip, stroking her hair firm and gentle— she quickly takes off her headband as well, the metal dramatically clanging to the floor. “Can I,” Link slides a hand down her hip, down the outside of her thigh, she needs to get everything off, needs to _feel_ him, “Could I touch you? I want to, to make sure you get somethin’ outta this, I mean—”

“Yes,” she breathes, already starting at the zipper of her skirt, pulling down on the hem and the waistband of her leggings and kicking them off quickly, snickering when her feet get caught and she has to pry them off herself. “Yeah, of course you can.”

“Tell me what to— tell me what ya like, alright?” He kisses her cheek, her ear, and his voice drops to a whisper. “I’m good at followin’ orders, I swear.”

Zelda chuckles, nods and turns to press her lips to his jaw, to his cheek, the tip of his nose. He slowly pushes over until he’s on top of her, kissing her gently, running his hand up and down her leg; he keeps pausing to breathe, to nuzzle his face into her neck, warm skin and soft blonde hair that smells like pine trees. His other hand traces up her waist, settling nervously on her chest with a rough swallow. “You gotta tell me if anythin’s wrong. I’ll stop.”

“I will,” she assures him, and something in his eyes softens. Zelda finds herself completely and entirely moonstruck, falling into a trance in the arms of this beautiful man who has shown her nothing but kindness, whom she wants to ravish, whom she wants to see on Thursday more than anything in the world.  

“Can I say somethin’ kinda strange, Zelda?”

“Of course.”

“I-I know we just met, but. I feel like I’ve known you for a real long time.”

“Maybe you have,” Zelda suggests softly.

Link stares a little longer at that. “Maybe,” he chuckles, and his lips meet her neck and Zelda just about swoons into a stupor.

— 

They’re well into spring, and it’s finally starting to look like it. The sun lets in wonderfully through the wide window this morning, setting the kitchen aglow and painting the walls with leafy shadows. Link’s already kicked into full gear, though he’s still sore from rehearsal. He’s trying to juggle two pans of scrambled eggs and hash browns on the stove at once— it’s a lot easier to cook here now that he’s memorized where everything is, pans in the lowest cabinet in the corner, cooking oil above the cutting boards, spice rack right below it— there’s no cumin for the eggs, though, because Zelda’s allergic to cumin. What a terrible shame. 

Zelda’s on the phone with her mother right in the hallway, pacing back and forth in a silk headscarf and an oversized t-shirt from his dance company. The light hits her sable skin in a way that makes her glow more than anything else in their home. It’s the loveliest sight he’s ever seen. “Yeah. Yeah, no... I passed all of it, of course. Dad says— well, Dad says— oh. Yeah…” She comes up behind him, quickly kisses him on the cheek before she holds her phone against her face with her shoulder and picks up the kettle from the stove, filling it up in the sink. “Yeah, I know. Oh, Link?” His ears perk at the mention of his name. “Yeah… yeah, for almost six months now. We’re— he’s doing great. He got a really good new job, he’s gonna be in this ballet downtown.”

Link turns off the heat under the eggs once they start to look right, plucking a few leaves from a potted cilantro plant and sprinkling them into the eggs, mixing with a fork. Zelda goes quiet for a long pause. “... How’d we _meet?_ Uh… Haha, you’re right, I never told you… Um.” She looks to Link with her teeth clenched, as if asking for help, and he simply shakes his head and shrugs. “I— hey, I have to do something really quick, I’ll call you back, okay? Love you too. Bye.”  

Zelda hangs up, puts her phone on the counter and runs a hand over her face. She takes the kettle out of the sink and puts it on the stove, and Link turns the heat on again. “Hey, uh, what the fuck do I tell my parents?”

“I reckon you should tell ‘em the real story, darlin’.” The hash browns aren't even browned yet, so he has time to get a large bowl out of the tall cupboard and scrape the eggs into it. “Tell ‘em I’m a prostitute you hired, but accidentally fell in love with.”

“Link,” she laughs, the most beautiful laugh in the world.

“Tell ‘em you just picked up some dude off the side of the road— ooh, tell ‘em I’m a _hitchhiker_ or somethin’, and you just pitied me so much that you took me in—”

“Link, I’m _serious_ ,” She looks at him, loves when she looks down at him all sweet like that. “You don't know my parents. They’ll freak out if I tell them the truth.”

“Tell ‘em _part_ of the truth, then, Zel.” He hooks his arms around her. “Tell ‘em you saw me in a show I was in, and we talked over drinks after, and we liked each other a whole lot.”

Zelda sighs, grins that regal smile of hers. “That’ll do,” she says, leans and kisses him. She tastes like peppermint, and the morning couldn't be off to a better start.

Then she glances away and pulls back. “... I think if I _really_ don't want them to know, I might have to kill Midna.”

Link laughs. “I'm also a hitman on the side, too. I can make that happen."

" _God_ , I love you so much."


End file.
